My Adult Romantic Comedy Is Wrong As I Expected
by Zhou Er Ke
Summary: Five years ago, the Service Club fell apart, after the (modified) events of Volumes 10-11. Hachiman, after writing a single misinterpreted popular novel, is now a jobless and inspiration-less writer. But what about the others? Who are they now, and what are they up to? A story of reunion: the three that were once the Service Club. YukinoxHachiman, Rating unknown, T temporarily.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I haven't written any fanfictions in a long while, and I don't have the time to try to make this one amazing. But I found that a friend also happened to write fanfictions, and it somehow motivated me to start again. I deleted my previous stories (Inheritance Cycle, Bleach) and changed my username... Sort of representative of starting anew :P**

 **I don't know where this will go, but it's just what I'll start doing in my free time. Along the way, I'm sure there'll be disappointments and satisfactions, but I do hope you all take the time to take a glance at this random story.**

 **I honestly don't know anything about the scope of this site anymore. How many people browse each category of fanfictions? How many people follow or favorite stories? And because of that, I think it'll be hard to judge whether this is well received. But that doesn't matter. In the end, I'm only writing this for myself.**

 **I do use wordplay, but since I'm not Japanese, obviously the wordplay won't be Japanese either... And I doubt most readers here would understand Japanese puns anyways, so I'll stick to English ones.**

 **No idea how long I'm planning to make chapters, or how long it'll be in general. We'll see, I guess.**

 **DISCLAIMER: Something something about characters not belonging to me.**

* * *

 **Prologue: No Matter What, Hikigaya Hachiman Cannot Forget**

Sentimentality is a crime. With the criminals being the liars who feel nostalgia from that sense of sentimentality.

Being nostalgic implies that you had a past worth reminiscing about. I've always believed that adults discussed their childhood on a gold platter, constituting it as an ideal worth much more than it really is. What people look back on is only their elaborate image of who they once were, rather than the reality hidden behind their falsified memories.

Then how does one describe a hatred of the events leading up to where they are now, to the point of wanting to forget it all?

After all, you can't be nostalgic about a past that was never superior to what you are experiencing in the present.

I guess it can only be called regret.

Regretting the decisions you've made, imagining what could've been, comparing the now to the then. Even someone like me does those things once in a while.

Even? Why am I saying 'even'? If anything, it should be, 'Of course someone like me would do these things'.

Wait, wait, wait. Hikigaya Hachiman. Stop. This is treading on dangerous grounds.

There's no need for me to think these thoughts.

Everything will be lost at some point in time, and everything in the past has already been lost.

All that matters is the present. What you live in now is all you'll ever experience. Worrying about the past won't change anything in the present, and worrying about the future will only lead you astray.

Once, I thought that I would look back on my affairs as if they were treasures; maybe I'd even do it while drinking sake for old time's sake.

Now, that doesn't concern me anymore.

 _I almost cringed at my own wordplay there. 'Drinking sake for old time's sake?'_

I don't deny that I sometimes think back and glorify my past on a gold platter as well. But when I do, it's only to eventually smash it against the floor.

* * *

"Beep beep, beep beep, beep beep."

I slammed my hand down on my alarm clock, groaning as I delayed its stupid noise for another thirty minutes. It's not like when I wake up makes a difference.

My bed is small, fit into the corner of a cramped and dimly lit apartment room with clothes and books littered across the floor. In times like these, I could really use Komachi's help.

I wonder how she's doing. Five years ago, in my last year of high school, I wrote a short novel, and all of a sudden I didn't need to worry about college, money, jobs... I decided not to go to college. It would just be an extension of high school, an extension of that deceitful youth.

So now, I'm a half-assed novelist, living off the sales that my book still generates. It's strange, because though I've escaped the false world of high school, I've only gotten less motivated to write, despite being so determined in my senior year.

The thirty minutes passed quickly and the clock was beeping again. I turned it off and sat up slowly, yawning as I plopped myself in front of a computer on a nearby desk. I considered drawing open the curtains, but the bright noon sun would just hurt my eyes.

Realizing that the computer would take a solid minute to boot up, I slowly trudged into the bathroom, flicking on the light and examining my visage in the mirror. A stray strand of black hair fell in front of my dull brown eyes, its end caressing my cheek. I really need to get a haircut. But just because I need to doesn't mean I feel like getting one.

I washed my face with the freezing tap water and sat back down in front of the computer. Clicking around, I noticed a familiar name in the trending news section.

"Yukinoshita Returns to Japan for the Final Stage of her Research Tour"

What type of article title was that? Though I guess just the mention of that name would draw people in to read it. Almost like a clickbait, as some internet users like to call it.

Yukino Yukinoshita. Working alongside her older sister, Haruno, she's gained all sorts of popularity and status in the scientific world. Heck, even everyday people knew of her. Probably because as a scientist, the only things she researches are those that benefit the public.

Based on that, I assume she hasn't changed at all since back then.

I stopped myself from thinking any further. Who am I to assume I knew how she was like back then? We were only... in her own words, 'acquainted' for a bit longer than a year, which is hardly a meaningful amount of time in comparison to the long life I'm expecting to live.

My eyes flicked around the dark space, slightly illuminated by the glow of the computer. I needed to write. My savings were slowly dwindling out, and there was no feasible way I could keep living in this shabby room forever.

The question, then, was what to write. In the past few years, I've done just about everything to try and motivate myself. I traveled the world, talked to other writers, and posted in discussions on online forums. Though I'm not sure how much those online sites help, such as that one time I got mobbed and doxxed by a group of users on Tumblr, or that other time when users wished me to get cancer on 4chan. Even on Reddit, my posts were downvoted into oblivion. I'm sure that's just the nature of the sites, not because of my incriminating and often times overly rude comments and writing. **[1]**

Anyhow, nothing I write is acceptable. I'm sure that a book I publish would still sell some copies, due to my previous work, but it wouldn't be a creation that lives up to my own standards.

Next to my desk was the only other piece of furniture in the room: a medium sized bookshelf overflowing with novels. I focused on the one shoved behind all the others.

My Youth Romantic Comedy Is Wrong As I Expected.

It was the book that I had written in my final year of high school for a literature project. An eloquent visualization of my youth. My meddlesome teacher, Mrs. Hiratsuka, published my work without my permission, under the pen name: Amini Gayhick Haha. It's some rearrangement of the letters in my name; I guess she thought that it would be funny that I'd gain publicity under the phrase 'A mini gay hick, haha'. How she thought of that I wouldn't want to know. As an unintended consequence, due to the pen name and how cynical my viewpoints were within the book, it became famous as a satire of teenage life. I've never actually opened it once since it was published.

Of course, I hadn't used actual names of people that I had known in high school. So she didn't hold back at all with publishing it. When I had questioned her actions, Mrs. Hiratsuka simply told me that she wanted me to understand my own value.

I was the type of person who purposely excluded himself from others in high school. It's not like any connections in high school matter that much, and also, many high schoolers were just annoying teenagers who either held themselves to some 'higher justice' or were simply idiots who I didn't want to be around. But because of that intrusive teacher, I was forced to join the Service Club, in which we helped students with any requests for problems they might have had. That's where I met Yukinoshita Yukino, and Yuigahama Yui not long after. I thought they'd understand me, that they were different. In the end, we were all just hiding behind our own facades, judging each other by the same values that my liars' youth was made of. When the last year of high school came about, Yukinoshita transferred to some foreign sciences school, and I never saw her again. Of course, that wasn't all there was to it, but those events happened long ago and I don't care too much for reminiscing the past.

I haven't told them about the book I wrote, despite the Service Club and it's members being the main subject. I want to say that it's because I never had the chance to, but I never really tried to create that chance myself. To be honest, I was simply scared of how they would react. Besides, Yukinoshita probably already read the book because of its popularity, and with her genius, I don't doubt that she deduced that I wrote it. Five years ago, I forced myself to believe a blatant lie, and it was that I hoped she would never read it. I wonder if I still believe that now.

I can't say that I was angry about the publishing. Maybe, somewhere deep inside, I really wanted to share my own feelings. I think I was having trouble affirming my beliefs that I used to so rigidly hold onto. When I saw how many people read my book and laughed like it was a comedy, it locked my heart back into place. I'm sure that my old way of doing things was the correct way. After all, the 'me' from high school was able to understand his own worthlessness.

The fact that so many readers were able to enjoy reading a novel that was essentially my complaints against the world could only mean that those complaints were correct. The fact that those readers mocked my book, that they took my honest feelings and thought I was only kidding goes to show how demented society is.

That is why I will absolutely never change. I will hold onto these teenage beliefs of mine, rejecting the world until the day I die. In a way, I can thank Mrs. Hiratsuka, because by publishing my book, she gave me the opportunity to strengthen my belief.

I think of my own novel as an achievement not because of its popularity, but because I was able to convey my own thoughts through an autobiographical story. Even if the populace believes it's a satirical work, they still understand some of the feelings expressed. Ultimately, I wrote the book for myself and no one else.

I won't read it again since it's about a time where I was weak. When I let my emotions run rampant, and when I thought, just for a little while, that there were people that could understand me. The novel is entirely sentimental. And I don't need that type of crime in my everyday life.

 ***SMASH***

Oh, and another thing. I forgot to mention my annoying roommate.

Running into the bathroom, I opened a door on the opposing side which led to the adjacently linked room.

"Iroha, what the hell are you doing?! What happened to that final I stayed up helping you study for yesterday?!"

After bursting inside, I nearly tripped over a half dressed Isshiki Iroha groaning on the floor. She probably rolled off her bed, hence the loud noise earlier.

"Ah, senpaaiiii... Wow, seeee, I'm so tired I'm calling you senpai again..." Iroha yawned, stretching her arms out, unintentionally showing off her decently sized chest.

I glared down at her, replying, "Just because we aren't high schoolers anymore doesn't change the fact that I'm still a year older than you."

"But you also have to respect the person you're addressing to call them Senpai."

Did she just say something incredibly rude?

"Also, didn't you say it before? My birthday is in April, so it's only four months before yours. You don't consider me younger than you, right?"

I tried to think of a comeback, or at least something to save my dignity, but nothing came to mind, so I sadly accepted defeat. Not that there was much to save.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyways, shouldn't you stop messing around and get dressed?"

She sat up, legs crossed, leaning forward and grinned sheepishly at me.

"I'm only like this around you, Hachiman."

Iroha stood and opened her wardrobe, and I took that as a sign to get out of her room.

As I walked out, her singsong voice rang out behind me.

"The test is in an hour, by the way~"

I sighed as I leaned back into my chair and thought about how this situation came to be.

The first year after high school graduation, I continued to live in my parents' house like usual, along with Komachi. However, Komachi had decided to move out in order to attend Kagoshima University. My parents, who rarely stayed home, found less need for their large house and sold it. At the same time, Iroha, who I had gotten pretty close to, was going to a local university and needed a place to stay. Using my earnings, I rented this apartment for the both of us.

In some ways, our relationship was fake. Iroha had strong affections for Hayama, but Hayama had gone with Yukinoshita to their foreign school. At the same time... my relationship with Yukinoshita was... I can't say I was affectionate towards her, but for Iroha and I, we both replaced our counterparts.

Impatient, I walked up to the bathroom door and cupped my mouth with my hands. "Iroha, I'll wait for you outside!"

"Okay, I'm almost ready!"

I slipped on my shoes and opened the door, standing in the frame for just a moment to let my eyes adjust to the brightness and to feel the gentle wind blow past me into the room.

The door next to mine opened, and Iroha stepped out of her apartment room, fully clothed. She was wearing a beige coat, with some white garment underneath, accompanied by a pale blue skirt.

"How do I look, Hachiman?" She did a twirl, her flaxen hair seemingly floating in the air, and I had to admit; the clothes fit her pretty well. I wondered what all the guys at her university thought of her if she looked this cute everyday.

"You look fine. C'mon, let's go."

We took the steps down the floors in silence, save for Iroha humming the tune to some pop song. In front of the building was a bike stand, and I unlocked my bike and dusted off the back seat.

I sat down and waited for Iroha to get on the back, then asked, "Ready?"

She sat in her usual strange way, facing sideways while gripping the seat, and then smiled at me. It never really seemed safe, but it's better that way so she doesn't have to wrap her arms around me in order to hold on. I shuddered at the thought of that. Her chest, pressing against my back, and then-

"I'm ready."

And with a few shaky pushes on the creaky pedals, the wheels began to turn, gradually spinning faster and faster.

The morning breeze was a cool contrast to the stifling rays of the sun beating down on us. Luckily, the college wasn't too far away; it was only about double the distance to our old high school.

Iroha was taking a science major, which made sense the more I had thought about it. The local university as a whole wasn't very well known, but its sciences department stood out a bit above others.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I slowed down to a stop. This was typical procedure. We were still a few blocks away from the school, but Iroha had stated before that she didn't want to be seen escorted by me. Probably has something to do with increasing her female appeal, like: guys don't like to hit on girls who are seen with other guys, right?

Anyways, I've never once actually been at her university because of that, so I don't really know anything about her life there. I was worried in the beginning, but Iroha was Iroha, and she made friends almost instantly when she joined. Well, I suspect that because she constantly goes out on the weekends, and what else would she do if not to meet up with her friends?

"I'll see you later then," I said, turning the bike around.

Just as I was about to leave, I felt her arms encircle my abdomen, and her relatively warm body pressed against me from behind.

"I-Iroha, what are you-"

She let go, and when I glared at her, with my face flushed red, she laughed, and then gave a daring grin.

"See you later, Hachiman."

And she was off.

That was too sweet. Ah, it was so sweet that I had an urge to quickly bike home and watch Yazawa Nico say, "Nico-nico-ni!" one hundred times over. **[2]**

If Iroha were to say that, maybe it'd sound like, "Iro-Iro-Ii! I'll Iro-Iro-Ii your heart! I'm Isshiki Iroha, and I'll put a smile in your heart!"

Hm... the three syllables in her name instead of two really ruins it though. Now it almost sounds like "Ero-Ero", which doesn't actually sound like such a bad option. "Ero-Ero-Ee! I'll Ero-Ero-Ee your peni-" **[3]**

That train of thought was getting strange even by my own standards.

At any rate, the two of us were close, but Iroha had hugged me very few times (I can't even remember the last time) [a tear trickles out from Hikigaya Hachiman's eyes], and none just out of the blue like that. I wonder why she did it.

I shook my head to clear my mind before beginning my ride home. A certain vehicle at the intersection caught my attention. It was a black limousine, and though there was no way it was the same one as the one I was thinking of, it still brought back all sorts of unpleasant memories.

Maybe it was because of those memories that I decided to take a detour.

When my feet stopped pedaling, the words engraved on the stone wall beside me were "Sobu High School".

I wonder what this feeling is. A sense of sadness and regret, misery and bitterness. Somehow, even though it hurt with every step, I slowly tread my way past the school gates.

It was pretty empty since high school ends a week or so before universities do. It was surprising, however, that the front door was unlocked. Without really thinking, I stepped inside.

Ah. These mundane lockers. Past those, the classrooms on the first floor. 1A, 1B, 1C... and so on. On the second floor, the classrooms for the second years, labeled with 2's and their corresponding letters. The conference room. The third floor with the seniors' classrooms. And then the student council room.

When I stopped, I looked up out of my daze to see a familiar sliding door. The room whose sign said nothing of what it contained, but instead displayed 26 stickers of all sorts and colors.

The Service Club.

There was no way I could open this door again. I can't, I won't, I shouldn't. But my hands moved anyways, first knocking on the door, and then sliding it open.

Taking in what was inside the room, I let my arms fall to my sides, then let my knees fall to the floor.

"Haaa... hahaha..." I couldn't tell if I was crying in despair or laughing at my own stupidity.

I was naive to think that it could've been the same. There was no way that nothing would change after all this time.

The room was empty, even its usual jumble of chairs and desks in the back were gone. The table in the center was no longer there. The tea set by the window, our names on the blackboard, it was all wiped clean.

"Is someone there?"

Oh, fuck. There was still a teacher here. It was a hoarse female voice, reminding me of another teacher that I once knew.

I ran as fast as I could back to the main building and then outside, jumping on my bike and pedaling like my life depended on it. The skies seemed to darken around me, and the clouds and scenery blurred together as I sped home.

Maybe it would rain. I almost wished it did, because then I wouldn't have to hold in the water in my eyes.

* * *

References:

 **[1]** \- These sites are known for having certain subsites in which things can get really messy, but it's really probably just because of how Hachiman talks to others condescendingly that he's so hated.

 **[2]** \- Youtube - watch?v=T4iC52d-fVY from Love Live.

 **[3]** \- Ero, often times short for erotic.

 **A/N: I do realize this prologue was somewhat... boring. I haven't written in a while, and it lacks a good hook as well as a cliffhanger. But it was somewhat of an introduction, and I do hope that when Chapter 1 is published, it will not be as bland. Thanks for the reviews!**


	2. Author's Note (Potential Return)

**A/N: Hey fellow lovers of Oregairu! As you all can see, I haven't been on Fanfiction for quite a while, as I've been busy with school. I haven't written much of anything either.**

 **Actually, I had lost interest/motivation to write this story at all and I'm not sure whether it's because there's no more new Oregairu content or because I had moved on to other things or a mixture of both.**

 **However, I logged onto my Fanfiction account to find many messages from the past year asking me to continue, and now that I have time, I might consider writing again.**

 **So this isn't a new chapter (sorry guys), but rather just me judging how many people are still interested in Oregairu and my fanfiction :)**

 **Oh yeah, I've also made some small edits and changes to the prologue. After all, I did write it more than a year ago.**

 **If you guys liked the prologue and want to see more, send me a message! Meanwhile, I'll try to recall the plot I had in mind way back then.**

 **Again, thanks everyone for the support, and hopefully I'll be back soon.**


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